The Chance

00 || Ice Princess

Killshot (slowed + reverb) - Magdalena Bay

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Evie

The last of the music fades into silence as I catch my breath. Braden's arm supports my back as he pulls me upright, and I let out a huge sigh when I see the look on his face.

The expression of wanting this routine to be better.

"It's good Evie," He breathes and I glide back a few inches.

"I know it's good but there needs to be something more...wowing to it." I respond. "The turns and jumps are all great, but I want us to amaze the crowd. Make them stand out of their seats."

He looks at me for a moment before nodding, "What were you thinking?"

I suck in a breath and dart my eyes away from his in thought. But there's nothing to contemplate in my head. I know what I want to do. It's just doing it that's going to be a challenge.

"Quadruple axel." I meet Braden's eyes again. Partly widened and his lips pulled into a thin line.

"Evie..." he says my name hesitantly.

"I know Braden. I know it's a hard move to land, but you know I'm aiming for that spot on the Olympic team." I stress my point. "So it's gonna take a lot more than a few toe loops and some steamy partner choreography to win them over."

Still, his look at me is questionable and I hate it.

"Look, Evie. I want us to do the best we can and of course I want us to wow the judges in competition, but you have to be realistic. You just perfected your triple axel a few months ago, I don't want you to push yourself too hard." He explains his worries.

I bite my inner cheek in defiance. "We're doing it. I can do it Braden." I tell him in a stricter manner. "I promise I'll take it slow during practice, but I want to do it."

His arms cross over his chest as he stares me down. I can tell he's thinking this through because his eyes narrow when he's deep in thought. "Okay. I trust you Evie. But if this starts causing us trouble we're taking it out."

I give him an understanding nod of agreement before he skates off to the bench. Pulling the skirt of my black dress down, I wipe the perspiration off my forehead, hearing our coach yell at the younger skaters on the other end of the rink.

"Sharper Stella! Sharper! You look like an imbecile flailing your arms like that!"

I look down the ice and let out a breath. Vita Volkov is not a woman to mess with. Just by her name I feel intimidated.

Vita may mean life in Latin language but this woman is five feet and three inches of pure intimidation who will crush your soul if you upset her enough.

And one of the ways to do that is by interrupting her practice. Which seems like a daily ritual for the men that walk in five minutes before our practice ends.

Sharing a rink with the hockey team definitely has more downs than it does ups. They walk in chatting loud enough for the whole world to hear them and distract some of us mid routine.

Some of them don't know when to stop.

Especially for a certain guy who eyes me down everytime I skate to the bench. I wait for his usual sentence. "Nice skating Ice Princess."

I hate that he calls me that every fucking time I see him.

I glare at the blue eyes that stare back at me and have to hold back my inevitable 'fuck off' that I always respond with. Instead, I roll my eyes and sit down, unlacing my skates as fast as possible.

"What? No fuck off?" He questions and his teammate next to him laughs.

Not today asshat.

I pull off my skates and put my cushy safety guards on so I can carry them back into the locker room. "I would tell you to fuck off but I hope you're smart enough to realize that's pretty much a given the moment I see you."

Alexander Grant scratches my brain in all the wrong ways.

He pushes all the wrong buttons and he's proud of it. He walks around like he's the shit because, maybe, he is. I mean, rich parents, a Range Rover, captain of the hockey team, and attractive like every single player that's on it.

And to top it all off he's already got a deal with the Boston Bruins after he graduates. So with talent good enough for an agreement like that and attending a college thirty minutes away from the city, his popularity is through the roof.

And it shows.

He gives me such a douchey smirk that my brain wants to go on auto-pilot and walk away from this right now.

And I was about to until his friend butted in.

"Give it to her." His teammate bumps his shoulder with a smile stretched across his face. Just as douchey as the smirk Alex is giving me right now.

What was this guys' name again? Mac? Max? Matt? I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to stick around for any more shenanigans they want to pull.

"Oh, right." I watch Alex carefully and finally notice the white shirt in his hand. When he holds it out to me I realize it's not a shirt, it's a jersey. "Here."

I stare at it in confusion before glancing between the two in front of me. "What is this? A desperate way to say you want to get into my pants?" I say partially disgusted, not making a move to grab the jersey.

"If it was from him," He points at his teammate. "Then yes, it would be. But since it's a gift from me, take it as a sign of friendship."

I'm still trying to comprehend this as he talks. I want to be as indifferent and austere as possible, but my birthday is in two days and I'm always in a good mood during my birthday week.

They are not about to ruin that.

So with the most artificial voice I can conjure, I accept his so-called 'sign of friendship.' Usually I'm cold and say a one liner before I'm off to the locker rooms, but not this time.

"Aww thanks Alex. This is definitely going to be my most prized possession." I smile sarcastically and take the jersey. "Right after I throw it in the trash can outside of my house." I return to my bitter state, my expression dropping before I walk off.

And I don't forget the looks on their faces when I do.

• • • • •

Throwing something like that in the trash would be too nice on my part. And when it comes to me and the douchebag I have to see every other day, I am not the nicest person. At all.

So that's why I find myself shouting words I can't hear, in front of a large group of people, next to a bonfire. I'm yelling something, but I'm too drunk to hear it.

All I know is that it didn't take long for that jersey to go from the palms of my hands to the flames of the fire. People, including myself, were cheering so I guess I made one hell of a speech.

The jersey starts to melt, the white and green trimmings dripping onto the logs, the lettering becoming deformed and the entire piece of clothing slowly mangling due to the extreme heat.

Tilting my head back I down the rest of my drink as I watch the white polyester burn with a name I take great pride in destroying.

Fuck you Alexander Grant.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Double update!!

I'll see you in the next chapter